


Velvet and Lace

by borrowedphrases



Category: TRUMP: True of Vamp - The Origin of the Vampire | Suemitsu Kenichi
Genre: Bloodplay, Canon Genderbending, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, TRUTH Cast
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-05
Updated: 2013-05-05
Packaged: 2017-12-10 10:45:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/785177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/borrowedphrases/pseuds/borrowedphrases
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gustav and Michelangelo share her bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Velvet and Lace

**Author's Note:**

> Keep in mind that [F2](http://f2.dreamwidth.org/) hasn't finished subbing the D2 TRUMP DVDs yet, so I've only seen the raws. Characterizations are subject to change once subs are released.
> 
> There will be a REVERSE cast companion to this.

Michelangelo's room is a testament to her philosophy, a perfect painting of elegance. From the intricate patterns of the woven throw rugs covering the flagstones, to the richly soft red velvets and satins of her canopy bed, everything is carefully arranged to create a sense of flow through the room. Gustav thinks she would much prefer a room without any corners - a circular tower like Klauss', if they weren't all equally dust covered and drafty - for she goes to great lengths to hide each one with tapestry and lace. One wall is dominated by glass doors leading out onto her balcony, looking out over his gardens, and there's a wide, triple mirror vanity against another, sconces inlaid in all the right places to create just the perfect amount and angle of lighting so she can fix her hair and apply her makeup.

She's seated there now, gently working her hair out of its ribbons, gliding her fingers through the ringlets and then taking a boar bristle brush to them. Gustav likes her hair, likes it when it's carefully done up in bows and diamonds, not a single curl out of place. He likes her hair when it's loose, when her curls gently frame her face and dust across her shoulders. He likes the way the moonlight plays at her hair as it ghosts in through the windows. He likes her hair fanned out over a plush pillow while she gazes up at him.

Gustav sprawls on the bed, the curtains drawn open, watching her. His coat, shirt, and gloves are already thrown in a heap on the floor by the bed - she's long given up on yelling at him about that, thankfully, though she does sometimes sigh, and click her tongue, and gather his garments up to fold and drape them carefully over her vanity chair - his arms are crossed behind his head, one leg propped up, bent at the knee, toes curling slightly in her crushed velvet bedspread. 

She sets her hairbrush down on her vanity, sighing softly as she looks in the wide enchanted mirror in the center. She's not looking at herself, Gustav knows this from the angle of her gaze and the subtle quirk of her lips, now a natural pale without the paint she applies upon waking. She's looking at him. At his bare chest, at his trousers hanging low and snug around his hips. He can practically taste the scent of her lust on the air.

He shifts slightly, making himself more comfortable as he turns his gaze away from her, looking up at the thick canopy of her bed. His arms flex slightly behind his head, muscles becoming slightly more pronounced, and his hips widen. There is a heat between his legs, dull, but growing. Something only she can satisfy. He closes his eyes, breathes out slowly, and listens.

There are the sounds of her standing and sliding her chair back under the small desk of her vanity. He can hear the soft rustle of her dress as she leans forward, the movements of her hair as she takes one last look at herself in the mirrors, making sure she still looks elegant, even as she relaxes before bed. He can hear her gentle steps as she glides toward the bed, and he can't help smiling, his lips curling in a proud little smirk, just before he feels her fingertips graze his skin, tracing the definition of his stomach.

"Teacher Michelangelo?" It's a game they still play, after all this time. Calling each other by formal titles, questioning to play at making sure it's the other touching while eyes are closed. As if they don't have each other's touches committed to memory.

"Teacher Gustav." Her voice is light, almost coy, like a shy virgin. She is no virgin, Gustav knows that well, but she is always delicate when they begin.

He can feel the bed shift beneath him when she kneels beside him, can hear the dull clink of metal hooks as the heavy canopy curtains are closed, cocooning them alone together in the privacy of her bed. Both her hands are on his stomach now, cool against his skin, and then sliding upwards, nails tickling at his chest, teasing at the dusting of hair over his breastbone. He breathes in slowly, breathes out evenly, then finally opens his eyes, just as her leg comes up and over him, just as she straddles his hips.

She smiles at him, as she settles herself down. He can feel her heat even through all the layers of fabric between them. Their trousers, her dress. He can feel her growing hardness coaxing his to life as she shifts, as she slowly grinds down against him, her eyelids lowering, gazing at him with quiet longing through her long lashes.

He moves his hands, unfolding his arms from behind his head, and reaches for her hips. He grips at the soft fabric, and guides, carefully shifting her in such a way that as she moves against him, each push forward sends a spark through his groin. She gasps softly, not much more than a sigh, as she leans back. She lifts her hands, moves them back behind her neck, and deftly unhooks her pearl necklace, tossing them onto the bed beside them, just out of reach.

Gustav's hips are moving, lifting upwards, meeting her heat. He's hard, aching, and hot, his blood rushing through him. His hands move to her thighs, gripping through her pants. She laughs at him, soft and gentle, eyes shining, and reaches for his hands, moving them to the closure of her waistband. He struggles with the fastenings for a moment, cursing soundly, and then finally managing to unhook the clasp. He almost breaks the lacings as he yanks them open. He wants her bare, wants her skin to skin with him, but there is still so much cloth to get through.

One of her hands moves forward, presses a finger to his lips to hush his string of curses and growls. He nips at her finger, wolf-like fangs showing. She gives him a small slap to the cheek, and he considers biting her wrist for a moment before he finally relents, swallowing his frustration and stilling as best he can. His hips still lift against her in a slow, steady rhythm. He can't help but growl again when she slides off him, even though it's just so she can wriggle out of her pants, bear herself, her sex, for him - just for him - under the shrouding tent of her dress. He licks his lips, and swallows hard, already seeing the proof of her arousal lifting her dress, tempting to part the slit in the fabric down the middle.

Light, clicking sounds ring, as her delicate fingers work his belt open. His hand comes up to cup her cheek, worn and sword-calloused touch against smooth and expertly pampered skin. She sighs, looks up from her hands, and tilts her head against his palm as she slowly - agonizingly so - tugs the laces of his closure free. 

They have to shift a bit, breaking the spell of the atmosphere for just a moment as he lifts his hips and she tugs, dragging his trousers off him. Now both of them are bare, but for the sultry texture of her dress against their skin. She kisses him - tongue probing deep, tips of her fangs grazing, but not breaking, the skin of his lips - before she pushes him back down onto the pillows, hand over his heart. Her hair frames her face as she moves back over him, her hardness meeting his, heat pressed together, making him gasp, and arch his chest briefly off the bed.

His hands slide up her thighs, slowly, until they find their way under her dress, to the fine bones of her hips. He glances down, and sees again the proof of her need between her legs, lifting her dress. There's a second bulge, a little closer to him, his own erection straining in need. His eyes are fixed on their matching hardness, their shared heat, until he moves his hands again, and then he looks up and watches her face as his fingers glide down her shaft, wrapping around, enclosing. He can feel the texture of her dress against the back of his hand as he give her that first slow stroke.

"Ah, Gustav." Her eyes flutter closed, lips parting as she draws in a sharp little breath. He smiles to himself, a lopsided grin, proud he can draw that reaction from her still, after all their time together. He gives her a few more slow, careful strokes, thumb brushing over the hint of wetness at the tip, and she leans forward over him, holding herself up with a hand on his bicep. "That feels so good."

His free hand slides around her, moving from her hip to the small of her back, pushing lightly and guiding her forward, until their needs meet. He feels the small tremor that runs through her, following the length of her spine. After another slow, and purposeful, glide of his grip, he shifts his hand, gathering their shafts together in his wide palm, fingers wrapped around the both of them. Their heat mingles, and his hand moves, stroking himself as he strokes her.

" _Gustav_ ," she leans further over him, gripping more tightly to his arm, nails leaving little pink crescent indents in his skin. "Wait. I need... need blood."

He slows his hand, then reluctantly draws it away, hissing softly between his teeth. He's so hard, and she's just as firm against him, hot and heavy. And he wants. He needs. He grips her hip with his freed hand, just as hard as she's gripping him, and lets her know with that gesture that she shouldn't take her time with this.

Michelangelo smiles, and leans back, letting go of his arm and bringing her wrist up to her mouth. There is a brief moment where he can see her fangs, elegant in shape, like the thin venom giving teeth of a serpent. He snarls in delight when she bites her own skin, watching as the blood blooms as she pulls he wrist away from her mouth. She angles her hand down, so her blood coats her palm. A few drops land on the bed; a few splash against his stomach.

She's still smiling as she licks her own blood from her lips, as she lifts her skirt with her unbloodied hand. He catches a glimpse beneath, and just that brief sight of their shafts pressed flush together sends a thrill through him. It's rare to see, mostly hidden beneath her skirt when they couple; she has no problems with her body, but Gustav thinks she likes to keep some things a mystery.

She's stopped bleeding by the time her bloodied hand disappears beneath her skirt, but the blood on her palm is still warm when she slicks his hardness, her grip twisting, coating him.

"Gustav," her voice is light, airy, with just the faintest hint of lust thickening it at the back of her throat. "Gustav, do you want me? How badly do you want me? Tell me."

He wants her. _Oh_ he wants her. He wants to grab her by the hips, dig his fingertips in hard and flip her over onto her back. Wants to drive his dick inside her and fuck her until she screams from the roaring pleasure of his need. He wants to bite her throat and drink from her as he climaxes. Part of him, the animal buried deep inside all of their kind, wants to drain her until she's dry. Wants to suck the marrow from her bones.

"Get _to_ it already," he growls at her, practically shouts, lifting his hips up, bucking into her hand. 

She smiles, she smirks, her pride shining in her eyes. She knows she's driving him crazy, just as she knows the extent of his lust; the dark thoughts that come to his mind flood hers as well. Lapped up blood and torn flesh and bones milked for their succulent innards. She gives him another few gliding strokes, then moves forward, lifting herself up and guiding his stiffness between her legs.

She trails his tip along the underside of her hardness, then further, the slick of her blood gliding over her skin and then back just a bit more.

He curses loudly when she slips his head inside her with practiced ease. His hands fall to the bed on either side, gathering up great fistfuls of her velvet bedspread. He shouts her name, and has to grip even harder at the fabric to keep his hips from driving forward, spearing her in one swift thrust. This moment is always hers to guide.

Her mouth hangs open as her head rolls back, her tongue resting limply on her bottom lip, her eyes half lidded, pupils dilated so wide all he can see is their blackness when he looks up at her. She licks slowly at her lips, runs her tongue along her teeth, her eyes opening a bit wider, and she fixes her gaze with his as she eases herself down, taking his shaft slowly inside her, bit by bit, until she settles down against him.

She's hot around him, tight and all encompassing. He moves his hands back to her thighs, resting his palms over them, then gripping with clenching fingers, wanting her to _move_ , but not wanting to guide her. Well, he _wants_ to, but he won't. He'll let her pick the moment, and follow her lead.

She stays still for a small eternity, then slowly, ever so slowly, she lifts herself up, then guides herself back down again. Soft sighing sounds slip past her lips, as she leans back, getting the angle just right for her. Gustav could care less about the angle, he just feels her all around him, feels the friction of her movements, feels the slickness of her blood easing him inside her, then almost out, then back deep within her again.

Their paces quickens at her behest, until she's grabbing for his hands, moving them to grip her hips, to help her guide their movements. She's losing control and she needs him to take over, as her lust builds, as her legs start to shake and her lips tremble. He obliges her silent request, palms over her hipbones, fingers pressing into her skin. He takes over when she is unable to keep up their pace on her own, thrusting into her with wild, animalistic abandon.

She gasps, she whines with need. She opens her eyes, and her pupils are so dilated, blown out and vaguely angled at the tops and bottoms. He can see it in her face, just before it happens, in the look of shock that always crosses her face, gasping, like she's somehow not expecting it. Then she's groaning, still somehow soft, still somehow elegant, as her climax soaks the front of her skirt, slicks across the lowest parts of his stomach.

A few more lifts of his hips and he's toppling over that edge after her, forcefully driving her down around him as he spills into her. He holds her in place as he jerks inside her, until the last of his seed is spilled. 

They go still, chests shuddering with each heavy breath they draw. They don't want to move yet, don't want to break their union. It's as if a spell has been cast over them, one they don't want to work magics against. They're almost afraid to move, afraid to be apart from one another. Afraid to speak, to make a sound louder than their breathing. 

Finally, Gustav moves, lifting one arm up and gliding his hand into her hair. He draws her face down, and kisses her slowly, deeply. If he could he would purr into her mouth, make such a contented vibrating sound as to show her without words how much he enjoys her. How much pleasure he finds within her. She sighs through her nose at the kiss, her own hands moving to brush her fingers lightly against his jaw, against the faint dusting of violent colored stubble there. He is strength and power and guttural, raw force. A sharp contrast to her elegance and delicacy. They are compliments and contrast. They are a matched set in their oppositions.

When the kiss comes to its natural end she smiles against his lips, and can feel him smiling too. He brushes his nose against hers, and lets out a heavy sigh, growing tired, now that the throes of his climax have faded.

Reluctantly she lifts herself up and off him, making a sad little sound when he slides out of her. Her dress is a mess, and even though she expects that by now, she still frowns down at it, her hands toying with it distressfully. 

He laughs, warm and low, making his chest hum with its vibrating sound. He covers her hands with his, gripping gently, and pulling them away from her skirt. "I'll have it cleaned, or buy you a new one. Don't worry so much."

She offers him a small, lazy smile, her lips still flushing red, as red as the paint she decorates them with. "Thank you, Teacher Gustav."

"It's no trouble, Teacher Michelangelo." He returns her smile, just as languid, eyes shining just for her.

They move together, shifting, rolling onto their sides before drawing the rich velvet covers up and over them. She moves in close, her legs weaving together with his, and nestles in against his chest, her nose between his collarbones, so his scent can lull her to sleep. He wraps an arm around her lean waist, fingers tracing small shapes in the pattern of her dress.

He waits for sleep to claim her, before he surrenders to it himself.


End file.
